


A Bridge of Silver Wings

by DreamingPagan



Series: Days of Ivory [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, In which Flint needs to be reminded that he can't fix everything, In which Thomas attempts to handle his trauma, M/M, Silver helps, not sure if angst or fluff, probably fluff, sequel to Cure for Sorrow, tattooing as therapy, torture mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Hamilton is not made of glass, and he's very tired of people looking at him as if he were. Silver attempts to wrangle both his lovers back to some definition of alright, and James attempts to remember what it is to let someone else take the lead for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bridge of Silver Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This fic is set a few months after The Cure for Sorrow. Silver, Flint, and Thomas have become lovers, and are now trying to work out their various issues. It goes about as well as could be expected.

_“A bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare  
to the jeweled vision of a life started anew.” _

― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry

They woke to the sound of screaming. James looked at John, John looked at James, and then it registered who was missing, gone from between them, the sounds of his pain echoing through the cabin. Silver could see a flash of panic travel over James’ face, and then he was rolling out of the bed, on his feet instantly, eyes searching in the darkness.

“Thomas?” His voice sounded hoarse, rough from sleep, an edge of fear in it. “Thomas, where are you?” 

The faint whimpering that answered him was heartbreaking, and it came from the far corner of the cabin, where Thomas sat, huddled, staring blankly into the night. His blond hair was rumpled, and his long, elegant hands clutched at his knees, which were drawn up to his chest.

“No,” he murmured. “No - please. I won’t - I won’t -” 

Silver had woken by now and was hurriedly buckling on his iron boot, cursing softly under his breath. James quickly navigated through the room, not even commenting as he stubbed one toe against the table edge, and knelt at Thomas’ side, eyes full of concern. 

“Thomas - it’s alright,” James soothed. “Wake up. You’re not in Bethlem anymore. Can you hear me?” 

Thomas was shaking, and James reached forward, quite without thinking. Thomas flinched, his entire body shuddering, and he curled in on himself further, his hands held out as if to ward off some form of harm, and James withdrew his hand, a look of guilt passing over his face, hand instead grabbing hold of the edge of his shirt, crumpling it, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He was not angry at Thomas, but he _was_ furious at the people who had done this to him, and the two were not readily distinguishable to Thomas when he was lost to his nightmares like this.

“Thomas,” Silver said, kneeling awkwardly in front of him, “it’s John. You need to wake up now. Can you do that for me?” 

Vacant eyes turned to stare at him, and he swallowed hard.

“Christ, that’s unsettling,” he muttered.

“You’re not wrong,” James admitted. He settled down onto his knees, his hands folded in his lap, and he leaned forward.

“Thomas - I’m here,” he reassured. “I don’t know what you’re seeing, but I _promise_ , this isn’t Bethlem. Wake up, love.” There was something infinitely tender in his tone, something that Silver still wondered at hearing. It had been over a year since he had met James Flint, but James McGraw was proving to be an altogether different person, one that Silver still had not gotten the measure of in so many ways. At moments like these, he wondered if he ever truly would.

The tone seemed to do wonders for Thomas. Between one moment and the next, he gave a startled intake of breath. His shoulders heaved, and he looked around, eyes searching for something, finally free of the grip of whatever nightmare had held him. He blinked, and quite suddenly, something like awareness came filtering back into his eyes. He shook his head.

“James?” 

James breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank God. Thomas -”

Thomas flinched away from James’ outstretched hand, freshly startled at the contact with his cheek, and Silver reached out a hand, lowering James’ arm gently.

“Easy does it, he’s not over it yet,” Silver cautioned, looking at his lover’s pale face. “Get some light in here,” he requested softly, and James nodded. He stood and fumbled with flint and striker for a moment before succeeding in lighting the lantern that stood on the desk nearby. Silver turned back to Thomas, who was still shaking, still breathing hard.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “It’s over. Do you know where you are?” 

Thomas shut his eyes, and nodded. 

“Walrus,” he said faintly. “Not - not Bethlem.”

“That’s right. Anything hurting?” 

The shaking was starting to lessen now, and he took a moment before shaking his head. James breathed a sigh of relief, the flame of the lantern in his hand wavering slightly with the passing of the air, and Silver nodded.

“Good. Would you like to uncurl a bit? That looks rather uncomfortable.” 

Thomas winced, and slowly, carefully, uncurled his long limbs, sitting with his legs flat on the floor in front of him. He passed a shaking hand through his hair and blew out a breath, and then swallowed hard.

“Well,” he said. “That was unfortunate. Did I startle you too badly?” 

“You were screaming,” Silver informed him, and he winced. 

“Bethlem?” James asked, and Thomas nodded. 

“Yes. It - they were -” He took a deep, shuddering breath, and shook his head. “I’d rather not say,” he answered, and James gave him a look.

“That’s the third one this week. Eventually, you’re going to tell me.” 

“Give it another couple of days,” Thomas said wearily. “It will stop.”

“And if it doesn’t?” James did not look impressed, his mouth a thin, tight, unhappy line. He hated these episodes - hated that Thomas had to experience them, hated what had been done to cause them, hated feeling helpless in the face of them.

“It will.” Thomas looked at James’ concerned face, and sighed. “I swear, James - I know what’s causing it, and in a few days’ time, this will pass. I’ll be fine, honestly.” 

“So it _is_ something on this ship?” James demanded, and Thomas shot him a look. “Don’t give me that look,” James said. “Whatever it is, if it’s giving you nightmares -”

“It’s nothing you can fix, James,” Thomas snapped finally. “I appreciate your concern but I’ll be perfectly fine. If you really want to help you’ll fetch me something to drink. My throat feels like someone’s shoved a lit torch down it.” A stricken look flashed over James’ face, and Thomas sighed, scrubbing a hand over his unshaven face. He looked up, his expression contrite. “James - please. I’m sorry, I just - “

James shook his head.

“No - don’t apologize,” he said. “John -” 

“I’ll stay,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m up to getting off this floor just yet.” James nodded and stood, striding out of the cabin toward the galley, leaving his two lovers alone, still sitting on the floor.

“Alright,” Silver said. “He’s gone. You know I won’t try to offer advice or run around the ship snapping at the men like an angry guard dog trying to fix whatever is troubling you. So tell me - what triggered this?” 

“James means well,” Thomas said. “You know that.”

“I’ve never seen anyone who tried so hard to do the right thing,” Silver agreed. “That doesn’t really answer my question, though.” 

Thomas sighed, and, with a wince, reached and pulled his shirt off. He turned, and Silver stared, transfixed at the sight of Thomas’ back - and the elaborate tattoo that now covered it. 

“Is that - a phoenix?” he asked, and Thomas nodded, a short jerk of his head accompanied by a quick, nervous gesture of one hand over the back of his neck. 

“It seemed apropos. I had intended to wait until it was fully healed to show you and James,” he confessed. “I’ve been trying to sleep on my side, but of course I move about in the night and, well -” He shrugged. “Do you like it?” 

“It’s quite a sight,” Silver answered. “Somehow, I’d never thought of you as the sort to use your body as a canvas, though.” 

Thomas shrugged again, and Silver ran his eyes over the tattoo again. It spanned the length of Thomas’ torso, the tail-feathers of the bird traveling down to the small of his back and the wings spreading out over his shoulders, the feather patterns neatly covering the scars left by Bethlem such that Silver, who was intimately familiar with the marks, could barely make them out.

“Thomas -” He started, tentative, “if this is about the scarring -” 

Thomas stiffened and turned, the look on his face oddly vulnerable in a way that it had not been even while he was screaming bloody murder. 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Silver asked quietly, and he nodded, a miserable expression flashing over his face briefly. 

“I couldn’t stand having them visible,” he admitted, and Silver let out a surprised breath. “I couldn’t - it was all I could think about, every time either of you saw me undress. I couldn’t see them, but you could, and it always reminded me of - that _place_. I needed -” He stopped, seemingly fishing for the words, and Silver stayed still, simply placing a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

“Needed what?” he asked, and Thomas shivered. 

“To stop feeling _pitied_ ,” he got out at last, his voice raw with unfamiliar anger. “To stop feeling like a walking spectacle rather than a person. I know, it’s silly, but I - every time I turned ‘round I felt - vulnerable, as if everyone were looking at what they’d done to me. I couldn’t stand the feeling of -”

He stopped, and Silver finished.

“Being exposed." He completed the sentence, knowing exactly the feeling Thomas described. “As if all anyone could see was what was done to you, not you.” Thomas nodded, grateful at having the feeling put into words. 

“I wanted to be myself again,” he confessed wearily. “I was so tired of looking at you and James and feeling as though I were seeing pity and horror in your eyes instead of desire. I’m sorry - I know it wasn’t there to be seen but -”

Silver rubbed the shoulder he was still holding, comforting the taller man with the contact.

“The feeling doesn’t go away so easily. I understand,” he answered. “Jesus, Thomas, if anyone is ever going to understand that, it’s me.” 

“Yes,” Thomas said, a look of chagrin passing over his features. “I suppose you would. How do you handle it?” 

“The situation’s not exactly the same,” Silver deflected. “Although I wish I could do the same. Maybe I should anyway! It would certainly divert attention elsewhere.” He placed a hand against Thomas’ bare back, and ran it experimentally and very, very gently over the contours of the still-healing tattoo. “It’s beautiful,” he admired. “You’re beautiful.” Thomas gave him the barest hint of a smile. 

“Thank you,” he answered. “How long do you think it will take James to notice?” 

“That you’re beautiful? I’m fairly certain he already knows -” Silver started, grinning, and Thomas snorted. 

“The tattoo, you merry-andrew.”

“Not much longer,” Silver answered, half laughing. “You know he’s like a bulldog when he’s looking for answers.” Thomas grinned. 

“You think he’ll approve?”

“I think he’d have to be blind not to appreciate a work of art when he sees one. James might be a lot of things, but not stupid.” 

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and the two looked up. 

“Best get your shirt back on if you don’t want him to notice right away,” Silver advised, and levered himself back up to his feet with a groan. “One-legged men should not sit on the floor,” he groused, and then hobbled toward the door, intercepting James on his way back in.

“Well? Did he say anything?” 

Silver shook his head.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he answered. “He’ll tell you when he’s ready. For the moment, though, I’m not concerned. He’s right - it will pass.”

“You’re awfully certain,” James said accusingly. “Are the two of you in cahoots now?” 

“You could say that,” Silver answered cheerfully. “And since neither one of us is concerned about it, it follows that you should then be able to leave it alone in good conscience, knowing that both the most moral member of your crew and the smartest are in agreement. Let it go, James. What’s the saying? Good things come to those who wait?” 

“You may not have noticed, but waiting’s never been my strong suit,” James pointed out, and Silver laughed.

“Truer words have never been spoken,” he said. “Go in. Just don’t press, unless you want to wait a lot longer.” 

James shot him a glare and then rolled his eyes.

“Alright,” he agreed. “You’d better be right about this, the pair of you.” He ducked back through the door and Silver followed him, still quietly chuckling as he closed the door behind them.

*******************************************  
The reveal, as it turned out, happened two days later. 

He looked up entirely by accident. A moment before, he had been occupied with gauging the wind speed and contemplating ordering the riggers to shorten the stern sail. They would need to change tacks soon, and there was no sense in having too much sail when he attempted to turn the ship to come closer to Greater Inagua. They needed a supply run - water stores were running low and -

He turned, curiosity peaked at the sound of some of the men oohing and aahing over something further toward the bow. He looked toward the deck at that end - 

And found Thomas, his shirt off for the first time in days, walking away from James over the deck, the muscles on his back now covered in a finely wrought design that took James’ breath away. He stood, staring helplessly and open-mouthed, watching some of the men gather around Thomas, fingers pointing out the fine details, some of them asking where he had gotten it.

“Now, I promised not to tell,” he laughed. “The poor beggar that did it feared he’d never again be able to put down his tools if he was found out.” 

“I’d pay a ruddy fortune to find someone could do detail work like that,” one of the men said. “Man’s a bloody genius, whoever he is.” 

Thomas grinned, and James felt his heart skip a beat. It had been far too long since he had seen Thomas like this - grinning, confident, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He’d been hesitant until now to show even James and Silver the marks left by his captivity - reluctant to remove his shirt, even more reluctant to allow anyone to see him from behind, and the change in him had hurt on some level. Thomas had never been shy in London - quite the contrary in fact. It hadn’t been all that unusual for James to find him in some state of undress in the middle of the day from the first, and it had taken several months to get used to his shameless flaunting of his physique. This Thomas was much more the Thomas of old, and the sight of it brought a smile to James’ face. 

“What do you think, Captain?” Silver asked, and James turned quite suddenly, surprised at the sound of his voice so close by. 

“What?” he asked, and Silver grinned. 

“I’d say that’s your answer,” he said to Thomas, who had come to join them on the quarterdeck. 

“So this is what you were hiding!” James commented. 

“You like it, then?” Thomas asked, and James grinned.

“Meet me in my cabin in an hour and I’ll show you what I think of it,” he promised. Thomas beamed, and James couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up out of him. He leaned forward, elbows against the railing, watching as Thomas made his way back down the stairs and went below. Silver stayed, watching both of them, a contented expression on his face. He leaned against the railing backward, and James turned his head to face him.

“You look almost as pleased as he does,” he observed. “I suppose this is what the two of you were discussing the other night?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Silver agreed. “I must say, it seems to have done wonders.” James nodded agreement.

“Now all I have to do is convince you you’re not some hideous creature meant to frighten small children into obedience, and we’ll all be well-adjusted and ready for the world to pull the rug out from under us again,” he said wryly, and John laughed. 

“You,” he said, “are world’s worst cynic.” 

“Someone has to be,” James answered. “I’ve lost him once already. I won’t lose either of you a second time by expecting the world to suddenly start playing fair.” 

Silver frowned.

“You know,” he said, “recent events would seem to disprove your theory.” James lifted an eyebrow, and Silver continued, warming to his subject. “I mean - look around. We stand on a ship - your ship - full of men devoted to a cause - your cause. The man in whose memory you fought has been returned to you and is, presumably, below preparing for a night of what I can only imagine will be unbridled passion. And somehow, wonder of wonders, we’ve managed to come this far without either being captured by the Navy, sunk by our fellow pirates, or capsized by a freak storm. Wouldn’t all that seem to prove that you might, just might, consider relaxing and allowing yourself some small bit of happiness?” 

“You think I’m unhappy?” James asked, his tone incredulous.

“I think that you’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Silver answered. James opened his mouth, then closed it again. That was the trouble, wasn’t it? He could not bring himself to believe that his present state of bliss could possibly last. He was still waiting for the thing that would bring it all crashing down - the seemingly harmless little detail that would spell ruin for all of them. He had seen it happen too many times before - had woken up too many nights, gasping for air, the sound of the gunshot that ended Miranda’s life echoing in his ears still. It had come out of nowhere - just as the fell stroke that had taken Thomas from him the first time, and now some part of him expected it to happen again.

“I can’t - There’s always _something_ ,” he answered. “You know that better than any. You can’t truly expect me to just lay down and watch it happen without trying to prevent it.” Now it was Silver’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He straightened, crossing his arms, and leveled a look at James that was half sternness and half compassion. 

“Agreed,” he said. “But just for once, do you think you might allow someone else to take the burden of handling it, at least in part?” James turned, facing Silver now, hands in fists at his sides.

“Do you think I like being like this?” he demanded. “You think I’m fond of doing everything myself?”

“No - I -”

“It’s been ten years,” he ground out. “Do you know just how often things have fallen apart in that time? How many times I’ve had to claw and scrape and hold things together with my bare fucking hands to _keep_ them from falling apart?”

“I think I’m starting to get an idea, yes,” Silver said carefully. “James -”

“We agreed on Captain while we’re on deck,” James growled.

“Fine. Captain, then. Look. I’ve been with you for the past year. I’d like to think I’ve gotten a glimpse of what life’s been like for you for the past decade, and I won’t deny, you’ve had more than enough cause to believe that you’re alone. But the fact remains, there are at least two people in this godforsaken shithole of a place that would very much like to take some of the weight now that we’re here. I’m asking you to let us do it, before you drive yourself into an early grave through trying to take care of all three of us all the time.” 

“And how do you suggest I do that?” His voice was a croak. The words had struck home, and he stood, staring at Silver, both shocked and frightened at hearing the words coming out of his mouth. “How am I to lay all this down and say no more?”

“You can start by going below, finding Thomas and -” He murmured a filthy suggestion in James’ ear, grinning at the heat that crept over James’ face as he spoke. 

“Your mind is a gutter,” James snapped, and Silver laughed.

“He’s not made of glass,” he answered. “It’s time we both started remembering that. Trust me, he’ll thank you for it.”

“That’s what this was about?” James asked, and Silver nodded. 

“At the heart of it, yes,” he answered. “He needs to be treated as though nothing had changed. Wouldn’t you want the same, in his shoes?” 

James blew out a breath he did not realize he’d been holding, guilt suddenly welling up in him. Yes, he would. He would not want someone hovering over him, acting as if he might break if he were not handled delicately. He owed Thomas an apology, it seemed, and possibly a lot more than that. Silver was right. And speaking of John - 

“And you?” James asked. “Where do you fit into this planned debauchery?” 

“I’ll be along momentarily, after I finish ascertaining who our budding artist is.” He grinned, and James rolled his eyes.

“You’re not spending the night interrogating my crew,” he said. “Come on. I’ve apparently got to make my own humble pie. Christ knows I’m not letting either one of you anywhere near the galley.”


End file.
